Free The Arrow Keeper’s Song by Kerry Newcomb Page A

something in young Sandcrane’s eyes, a funny kind of look, like that of a peace-able man oblivious to his own capacity for violence. If Jerel Tall Bull was going to be the one to take a walk on the danger side of Tom Sandcrane, it would have to be for something worth a lot more than a dog. He ambled forward, scooped the bills off the ground, and tucked them into his pocket. He was close enough for his words to carry to Tom alone.
    â€œDo not get the wrong idea. You were the son of the Arrow Keeper, yet you turned your back on the songs and the power. Fool. I think you are only a shell of a man now. And when it suits me, I may destroy you.” Jerel’s black eyes held the younger man in their malevolent stare. “Should you ever stand between me and that which I truly desire, I will grind you into dust.” Jerel turned and rejoined the gamblers who, as a whole, appeared relieved. Blood sport was one thing, but no one wanted to be an innocent bystander to gunplay.
    â€œThat’s it? You’re gonna let him ride out?” Curtis exclaimed.
    â€œYou want to catch a belly load of buckshot for some damn dog that’ll be dead before they take him a mile? Go ahead,” Jerel snapped, and thrust the Smith & Wesson into his younger brother’s hands. Curtis recoiled as if the revolver were white-hot to the touch. “I didn’t think so,” Jerel added.
    Tom turned the roan and retraced his steps to the front of the roadhouse. In a minute he was out of sight of the pit. Jerel Tall Bull’s behavior confounded him. There was more to the man than greed. The owner of the roadhouse would bear watching. In front of Panther Hall, Seth had already caught up the reins to his horse and climbed into the saddle. General Sheridan was draped across the skirt just behind the cantle, looking like a pair of saddlebags and just as lifeless.
    â€œWho do you think you are—Crazy Horse?” Seth exclaimed. “You should have minded your own business. I didn’t need your help. Jerel Tall Bull has killed men before. He could have shot you dead at any time.” Seth touched his heels to his mount’s flanks and urged the animal to a gentle trot.
    Tom, speechless, looked aside and thought he saw someone in the shadow of the tavern doorway, catching a glimpse of skirt as the figure darted out of sight. He was unable to identify the woman, but she had most assuredly been watching them. Checking his father’s trail, he saw the dust swirl in a tight, swift spiral, then settle in the heat. A whirlwind had sent him; another was telling him to leave. It was all strange, more than he could explain.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” said Tom to Seth’s slowly diminishing figure. He eased down the twin hammers on the shotgun, dropped the weapon into the nearest horse trough, and rode away from Panther Hall.

CHAPTER SIX
    C OMPANY A AND THEIR BITTER RIVALS , C OMPANY D, PLAYED to a four-to-four tie in the heavy heat of the afternoon. Then, in the bottom of the sixth inning, with D Company at bat, the game fell apart. Corporal Johnson hit a line drive over the center fielder’s head and the go ahead run on third, a lumbering cavalryman of Czech extraction named Pastusek, charged home while A Company’s catcher screamed for someone to throw him the ball. It was obvious that the throw from the outfield was never going to make it in time unless the catcher slowed Pastusek down, which is precisely what he did. As Pastusek bore down on home plate, the catcher palmed a derringer and shot the runner in the leg. Pastusek yelped and crumpled to the ground, clutching his calf. The catcher caught the throw from center field, trotted victoriously along the base path, and tagged the runner out. Pastusek reached up, caught the catcher by the throat, and proceeded to throttle him. The two men rolled in the dirt, gouging and pommeling one another as their teammates charged across the playing field. The